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My travels fyodor konyukhov myth. My travels

Academician, b. January 1, 1754 in Petrograd, son of a soldier of the Semyonovsky regiment; Educated at the academic gymnasium and university. In 1767, he was appointed to an expedition of "physical travel" in Russia with an academician ... ...

Obruchev, Vladimir Afanasevich- Obruchev Vladimir Afanasyevich (1863 1956) Obruchev Vladimir Afanasyevich Academician of the Academy of Sciences of the USSR (1929), Hero of Socialist Labor (1945). Researcher of Siberia, Central and Central Asia. Opened a row... Tourist Encyclopedia

vest- a, m. gilet m. Short men's clothing without sleeves, over which they usually put on a jacket, frock coat, tailcoat, tuxedo. Ush. 1934. A piece of clothing that only appeared during the Thirty Years' War. at first it was clothes that were worn under ... ... Historical Dictionary of Gallicisms of the Russian Language

Vladimir Afanasyevich (1863–1956), geologist and geographer, traveler, explorer of Central Asia. He began his work with the study of the Transcaspian region, continued in Siberia, covered with his research vast regions of China, Mongolia, Cf. Asia, ... ... Geographic Encyclopedia

Wikipedia has articles about other people with that surname, see Obruchev. Vladimir Afanasyevich Obruchev Date of birth ... Wikipedia

This term has other meanings, see Christmas tree. Christmas tree ... Wikipedia

General of Infantry, Chairman of the General Auditorium of the Military Ministry and Governor General of the Orenburg Territory. Born in Arkhangelsk in 1793. He was brought up at home until the age of 12, in 1805 his parents appointed him a cadet in Engineering ... ... Big biographical encyclopedia

Contemporary writer and journalist. Born into an artistic family. For the first time she appeared in print with "Notes of a traveler. On foot in Russia". Since 1918, a war correspondent for Izvestia, an employee of Rost. From 1930... Big biographical encyclopedia

Otter (Vydra) Vaclav (April 29, 1876, Pilsen, April 13, 1953, Prague), Czechoslovak actor, People's Artist of the Czechoslovak Republic (1946). Born in the family of a military musician. In 1893 he made his debut in the troupe of E. Zholner (Mlada Boleslav). In 1907 13 actor ... ...

I Otter (Vydra) Vaclav (April 29, 1876, Pilsen, April 13, 1953, Prague), Czechoslovak actor, People's Artist of the Czechoslovak Republic (1946). Born in the family of a military musician. In 1893 he made his debut in the troupe of E. Zholner (Mlada Boleslav). In 1907… … Great Soviet Encyclopedia

And, well. Flooring made of logs or brushwood for driving, passage through a swamp or marshy place. The archers chopped willow and threw it at the horses' feet. Such a fragile path only deceived them, they stumbled and fell. Arseniev, Through the Ussuri taiga. In some places… Small Academic Dictionary

Fedor Konyukhov

My travels

For reasons unknown to me, I was not born for an easy life, but to enjoy it through overcoming difficulties.

Fedor Konyukhov

Matchingai, way to the top

Solo climb to the top of Mount Matachingai

Height - 2798 meters above sea level

Mysterious Peaks

I have long thought of a solo ascent to some peak. Chose the mountains of Chukotka, Matachingai. And when the icebreaker "Moskva" introduced the ocean transport "Kapitan Markov" into the Gulf of the Cross, breaking the ice with its mighty stem, even then I was not disappointed in my decision.

This highest ridge Northeast Asia. The snowy peaks go into the clouds, it seems that Matachingai is securely closed from human eyes. This attracted me, I was convinced that it was necessary to climb and see these mysterious peaks. And everything that opens up to me, display in my paintings to show people.

Already on the second day after the mooring of the "Captain Markov" to the pier of the village of Egvekinotya, for a warm-up, he climbed a nearby mountain about a thousand meters high. I made my way to the very top and from it I saw the magnificent bay of Etelkuyum with Egvekinot. I set up a bivouac and started painting. After the first lines that appeared on a blank sheet of paper, I felt that it was blasphemy - to draw with pencils the dazzling white contours of the mountains. Literally everything was white - from the foothills to the peaks, there was not even a reminder of the black color. Filled with this whiteness and silence, I closed the album and went downstairs.

The beginning of the way

In the morning I left Egvekinot and drove to the foot of Matachingai: I loaded climbing equipment, a tent and a supply of food for several days onto the all-terrain vehicle. locals some concern was expressed about my idea of climbing to the top of the ridge alone, but I did not want to hear anything about taking anyone else with me. I was warned that at this time the snow was unreliable on the peaks, and I was advised to go only at night, when frost held the cornices. And I will follow this advice.

From here you can't go back

I decided to climb the main ridge and follow it all the way to high point Matching. Started climbing today. There is a lot of snow below. Walking was hard. Hot. And as soon as he stopped, he immediately began to freeze. I climbed two hundred meters and entered the fog, accompanied by fine snow, and felt that I did not have enough strength and calories to work at a fast pace.

The fact is that I had not yet rested from the previous expedition (in the Laptev Sea), where I was skiing with Shparo's group. On a polar night at low temperatures, we crossed 500 kilometers on skis along the hummocks of the polar sea. I remember that before, when I was going on a trip or an expedition, I prepared thoroughly - I trained, gained weight. And now, over the years, the desire to prepare has blunted. Yes, and no time. Several recent years I am constantly on hikes or expeditions. For eight or nine months I am not at home in Wrangel Bay.

I decided to take a rest, settled myself comfortably under the eaves and said to myself: “But Chukotka is unusually beautiful after all.” He spoke in a whisper so as not to disturb the pristine silence. He refreshed himself with biscuits and began to wait until night fell on the ridge and it would be possible to continue the ascent.

The snow quietly fell, the stones became slippery, I walked in great tension, knowing that mistakes were unacceptable. The frost intensified, it was warm in fur mittens, but without them, the hands instantly froze. I had to constantly cut steps: with one hand I drove the bracket for fixing logs into the ice, then, holding on to it and maintaining my balance, I worked with an ice ax. From tension to colic, the muscles of the legs were numb - stability was difficult to give. Sharp pricks of ice, splashing from under the ice ax in the face, complemented the discomfort.

A blow with an ice ax, another blow ... The step is ready. Didn't look down. It is best to look under your feet or up - there stretched an ice ridge, sharp as a knife blade, covered with a thick gray veil of Chukchi fog.

The thought flashed: not to go back? After all, I risked a lot. But another thought forced me to continue climbing: I must feel the mountains; without this, a series of graphic sheets about the peaks of Northeast Asia would not work.

Many people think that the artist creates canvases while sitting in a warm workshop. Not everyone is like that! My graphic sheets come to me in a different way, my works are events that I experienced and felt, these are my thoughts, my perception of the environment.

Thick snow began to fall, so I climbed blindly to the top of Matachingai - the ridge itself led forward. Steel crampons have ceased to be a reliable support. Through each step, more often than usual, I cut down the step of the support. Blue ice angrily threw away the ice ax, did not want to succumb to his blows.

I stopped more and more often, rested my head on the ice ax to catch my breath and relax my back muscles, then again fiercely pounded the steps. So he worked for eight hours until he came to a small stone ledge. On his side, the ice was softer and more pliable. By morning, I had hollowed out a niche in it, made a roof out of a windbreaker. The makeshift house was insulated by a thick, endless snowfall.

I boiled half a mug of tea on the primus stove - I saved gasoline, as I took quite a bit of it because of the decent weight of the backpack. He drank uncold. The darkness in the dwelling was lulling. As soon as you close your eyes, the treacherous warmth spreads through the body, it becomes easy and calm. “Do not sleep,” I ordered myself, “otherwise you may not return, you will stay here forever, on the ridge of Matachingai. There's a lot to do downstairs!"

He ran his hand over his mustache and beard, collected the icicles that had frozen to them in a handful and put them in his mouth. But they caused even more thirst. “The devil took me to these mountains,” I thought, “this year there were three expeditions. Old fool! And everything is not enough for you. When will you live like all people? Scolding myself in every possible way, I firmly decided never to climb the mountains alone again, and even in the north. True, I have made such vows before.

I threw off my jacket, which covered the entrance to my ice cave, looked at the ridge of peaks - the mountains seemed to have descended from Roerich's paintings. He took out an album and pencils and began to make sketches. I stopped self-flagellation, with each line came the confidence that I was doing everything right: climbing the mountains, walking on the ice of the Arctic Ocean, chasing Eskimos on dogs in Chukotka ... “No museum, no book,” said Nicholas Roerich, “they won’t let me the right to portray Asia and all other countries, if you have not seen them with your own eyes, if you have not made at least memorable notes on the spot. Persuasiveness is the magical quality of creativity, inexplicable in words, created only by the layering of true impressions. Mountains - mountains everywhere, water - water everywhere, sky - sky everywhere, people - people everywhere. But nevertheless, if you, sitting in the Alps, portray the Himalayas, then something unspeakable, convincing will be absent.

I made several sketches with colored pencils, and what I didn’t have time to mark with words: where is what color. And he continued the main work - climbing to the top.

Claiming the "spirit of man"

Here reigns a wary, sensitive silence. Even the wind had died down completely, everything seemed to be in anticipation of something. Creepy.

I stand in indecision, several hundred meters to the top. I say to myself: “Well, Fedor, are you ready? Naomi Uemure was harder."

I often repeat these words. After all, Uemura is an ideal for us travelers, he constantly affirmed the “spirit of man”. And now, being here, on the ridge of Matachingai, I can more clearly understand the loneliness that the Japanese traveler experienced.

He is no longer alive, on February 12, the climber climbed Mount McKinley, whose height is 6193 meters, and did not return to the base camp. For this the highest peak North America Uemura climbed for the second time - for the first time McKinley was conquered by him in the spring of 1970.

Before Uemura, no one tried to climb this peak in winter. But he did it! The climber was last seen on February 15 on a slope at an altitude of 5180 meters. But then his trail was lost, he never got in touch again. On March 1, a message appeared in the press: "The US search and rescue service in the state of Alaska refused to continue further searches for the Japanese traveler Naomi Uemura."

Author Fedor Konyukhov

Fedor Konyukhov

My travels

The publication is intended for persons over 18 years of age.

Legal support for the publishing house is provided by Vegas Lex law firm.

* * *

For reasons unknown to me, I was not born for an easy life, but to enjoy it through overcoming difficulties.

Fedor Konyukhov

Matchingai, way to the top

Since the beginning of the world, the snows that have accumulated here have turned into blocks of ice that do not melt either in spring or summer. Smooth fields of solid and shiny ice stretch into infinity and merge with the clouds.

Xuanzang, 7th century

Solo climb to the top of Mount Matachingai

Altitude - 2798 meters above sea level

Mysterious Peaks

This is the highest mountain range in Northeast Asia. The snowy peaks go into the clouds, it seems that Matachingai is securely closed from human eyes. This attracted me, I was convinced that it was necessary to climb and see these mysterious peaks. And everything that opens up to me, display in my paintings to show people.

Already on the second day after the mooring of the "Captain Markov" to the pier of the village of Egvekinot, I climbed a nearby mountain about a thousand meters high to warm up. I made my way to the very top and from it I saw the magnificent bay of Etelkuyum with Egvekinot. I set up a bivouac and started painting. After the first lines that appeared on a blank sheet of paper, I felt that it was blasphemy - to draw with pencils the dazzling white contours of the mountains. Literally everything was white - from the foot to the peaks, there was not even a reminder of the black color. Filled with this whiteness and silence, I closed the album and went downstairs.

The beginning of the way

In the morning I left Egvekinot and drove to the foot of Matachingai: I loaded climbing equipment, a tent and a supply of food for several days onto the all-terrain vehicle. The locals expressed some concern about my venture to climb to the top of the ridge alone, but I did not want to hear anything about taking anyone else with me. I was warned that at this time the snow was unreliable on the peaks, and I was advised to go only at night, when frost held the cornices. And I will follow this advice.

From here you can't go back

I decided to climb the main ridge and follow it to the highest point of Matachingai. Started climbing today. There is a lot of snow below. Walking was hard. Hot. And as soon as he stopped, he immediately began to freeze. I climbed two hundred meters and entered the fog, accompanied by fine snow, and felt that I did not have enough strength and calories to work at a fast pace.

The fact is that I had not yet rested from the previous expedition (in the Laptev Sea), there I was skiing with Shparo's group. On a polar night at low temperatures, we crossed 500 kilometers on skis along the hummocks of the polar sea. I remember that before, when I was going on a hike or expedition, I prepared thoroughly - I trained, gained weight. And now, over the years, the desire to prepare has blunted. Yes, and no time. For the past few years I have been constantly on hikes or expeditions. For eight or nine months I am not at home in Wrangel Bay.

The snow fell quietly, the stones became slippery, I walked in great tension, knowing that mistakes were unacceptable. The frost intensified, it was warm in fur mittens, but without them, the hands instantly froze. I had to constantly cut steps: with one hand I drove the bracket for fixing logs into the ice, then, holding on to it and maintaining my balance, I worked with an ice ax. From tension to colic, the muscles of the legs were numb - stability was difficult to give. Sharp pricks of ice, splashing from under the ice ax in the face, complemented the discomfort.

I threw off my jacket, which covered the entrance to my ice cave, looked at the ridge of peaks - the mountains seemed to have descended from Roerich's paintings. He took out an album and pencils and began to make sketches. I stopped self-flagellation, with each line came the confidence that I was doing everything right: I was climbing the mountains, walking on the ice of the Arctic Ocean, chasing Eskimos on dogs in Chukotka ... “No museum, no book,” said Nicholas Roerich, “they won’t let me the right to portray Asia and all other countries, if you have not seen them with your own eyes, if you have not made at least memorable notes on the spot. Persuasiveness is the magical quality of creativity, inexplicable in words, created only by the layering of true impressions. Mountains - mountains everywhere, water - water everywhere, sky - sky everywhere, people - people everywhere. But nevertheless, if you, sitting in the Alps, portray the Himalayas, then something unspeakable, convincing will be absent.

I made several sketches with colored pencils, and what I didn’t manage to do, I marked with words: where is what color. And he continued the main work - climbing to the top.

Claiming the "spirit of man"

Here reigns a wary, sensitive silence. Even the wind had died down completely, everything seemed to be in anticipation of something. Creepy.

I stand in indecision, several hundred meters to the top. I say to myself: “Well, Fedor, are you ready? Naomi Uemura was harder."

He is no longer alive, on February 12, the climber climbed Mount McKinley, whose height is 6193 meters, and did not return to the base camp. Uemura climbed this highest peak in North America for the second time - for the first time McKinley was conquered by him in the spring of 1970.

This man had restraint and inner strength, he said: “Death is not an option for me. I have to go back to where they are waiting for me - home, to my wife. And he added: “I will certainly return, because I need to be fed at least sometimes.”

The Last Journey of Naomi Uemura

How to call this feeling?

At three o'clock in the afternoon a large snow cone opened up. Here it is, the top, a few meters left to it. And only then did I feel a cast-iron fatigue in my whole body. He stopped, took out a piece of sausage, began to chew, looking around. The picture is familiar, familiar: the peak is like a peak, stones peek out from under the snow and ice. I have seen this many times. But all the same, a feeling of joy came, that he reached, reached the goal. Side by side with this joy, another feeling grew up, displacing fatigue. It filled me with warmth, warmed my soul. How to call this feeling? Pride? Happiness? Feeling your own power? May be. In any case, now I was sure that I could create a cycle of paintings "Top of Matachingai".

For some reason, I remembered the autumn of 1969, when I, as a cadet of the Kronstadt nautical school, climbed the bomb-bram-topmast of the Kruzenshtern training ship.

When I got a leave of absence in the city, the first thing I always did was go to the embankment on the shore Gulf of Finland. From there, a view of the port, all clogged with ships, opened. Puffs of black smoke and white steam erupted from their chimneys and rose smoothly to the gray Baltic sky. Under the endless horns of tugboats and the steady loud rumble of large steamships that were anchoring or entering the port, I walked along the embankment and inhaled the fresh sea air with an admixture of various aromas: citruses brought from the island of Madeira, spices from India, Siberian wood. I watched in fascination as the holds of ocean-going steamships were unloaded and loaded. Boxes, bales, some equipment flashed by.

But most of all I liked to admire the silhouette of the Kruzenshtern sailing ship. For several years now it has been under repair at the pier, its masts proudly towering above this fuss. One day, with my heart beating with excitement, I went up to the gangway of the barge and began to tentatively climb onto the deck. I was noticed by the sailor on duty - a young guy with a thin face. He liked me right away. "I want to see your ship, can I?" I asked quietly. Looking at me carefully, he replied that he could.

I was overwhelmed with joy. Nature smiled along with me - the sun came out from behind the clouds, illuminating the deck with light, - a rare thing in Kronstadt. I felt that the sailboat accepted me.

The deck was littered with ropes and cables, chains and sails. You couldn't take a single step without hitting something. And in this strange environment, which seemed to me chaos, people worked - they repaired the running rigging.

Emboldened, I asked the officer on duty to allow me to climb the yards. “Look what you want,” he replied, laughing. - When you finish sailor, come to work with us. And then you climb on them so much that you get sick of it. But I insisted, and the officer on duty said to come at night.

In those days, my comrade Anatoly Kuteinikov was the orderly in the company. He woke me up, as I asked him, at 00:00. It was dark in the cockpit, midnight - it's time to go AWOL. I jumped off the bunk on the second tier, put on my pants and a pea jacket, put on my shoes and left the cockpit, I only heard Tolik carefully close the door behind me. I immediately smelled of night coolness, above my head, between the stars, the moon shone. In one fell swoop, he climbed over the fence and rushed straight along the stone pavement to the port.

Seeing that I did come, the watchman clarified: “Will you climb?” “Yes, of course,” I replied, and walked to the railing. I began to climb up, climbing higher and higher between the tangled ropes, all the time checking whether they could withstand my weight, and trying not to lean on the bulges (rope steps). Overcoming meter after meter, feeling the air getting colder, the view wider, the yard and tackle smaller, I finally reached the bom-bram-topmast - the highest part of the mast.

A starry night surrounded me. The deck remained far below, the outlines of the ship and gear, on which I had just climbed, disappeared into the darkness. The lights of Leningrad were visible in the distance. I turned towards the sea and imagined myself in a storm, working...

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Fedor Konyukhov
My travels

The publication is intended for persons over 18 years of age.

Legal support for the publishing house is provided by Vegas Lex law firm.

* * *

For reasons unknown to me, I was not born for an easy life, but to enjoy it through overcoming difficulties.

Fedor Konyukhov

Chapter 1
Matchingai, way to the top

Solo climb to the top of Mount Matachingai

Altitude - 2798 meters above sea level

Mysterious Peaks

I have long thought of a solo ascent to some peak. Chose the mountains of Chukotka, Matachingai. And when the icebreaker "Moskva" introduced the ocean transport "Captain Markov" into the Gulf of the Cross 2
Part of the Gulf of Anadyr Bering Sea at south coast Chukotka Peninsula. Administratively, it belongs to the Iultinsky district of the Chukotka Autonomous Okrug.

Breaking the ice with his mighty stem 3
For the interpretation of special terms (nautical, climbing, etc.), see the "Glossary of Terms" at the end of the book.

Even then I was not disappointed in my decision.

Already on the second day after the mooring of "Captain Markov" to the pier of the village of Egvekinot 4
The village is located in Chukotka, 32 kilometers south of the Arctic Circle, on the shores of the Cross Bay in the Bering Sea. Nearby is the Bering Strait, which separates Asia and North America. Nearby are Mount Matachingai and Etelkuyum Bay.

To warm up, I climbed a nearby mountain about a thousand meters high. I made my way to the very top and from it I saw the magnificent bay of Etelkuyum with Egvekinot. I set up a bivouac and started painting. After the first lines that appeared on a blank sheet of paper, I felt that it was blasphemy - to draw with pencils the dazzling white contours of the mountains. Literally everything was white - from the foot to the peaks, there was not even a reminder of the black color. Filled with this whiteness and silence, I closed the album and went downstairs.

The beginning of the way

From here you can't go back

The fact is that I have not yet rested from the previous expedition (in the Laptev Sea) 5
Ski scientific and sports expedition in the Laptev Sea. The first polar expedition of Fyodor Konyukhov as part of the group of Dmitry Shparo.

There he went skiing with a group of Shparo 6
Shparo, Dmitry Igorevich (born in 1941) is a famous Soviet and Russian traveler and writer. His 1979 expedition was the first in the world to reach the North Pole on skis.

On a polar night at low temperatures, we crossed 500 kilometers on skis along the hummocks of the polar sea. I remember that before, when I was going on a hike or expedition, I prepared thoroughly - I trained, gained weight. And now, over the years, the desire to prepare has blunted. Yes, and no time. For the past few years I have been constantly on hikes or expeditions. For eight or nine months I am not at home in Wrangel Bay 7
A bay in the east of the Nakhodka Bay of the Sea of Japan. The entrance to it is located between the capes of Kamensky and Petrovsky. Length 3.5 kilometers, width 1.5 kilometers. On the shores of the bay there is a deep-water Vostochny port (the depth at the berths is about 16 meters, the length of the quay wall is 12 kilometers). Discovered by the expedition of Vasily Babkin in 1860. Named after the Russian navigator Bernhard Wrangel.

I threw off my jacket, which covered the entrance to my ice cave, looked at the ridge of peaks - the mountains seemed to have descended from Roerich's paintings 8
Roerich, Nikolai Konstantinovich (1874-1947) - cultural figure of Russia of the XX century. The author of the idea and initiator of the Roerich Pact, the founder of the international cultural movements "Peace through Culture" and "Banner of Peace". Russian artist (creator of about 7,000 paintings, many of which are in famous galleries around the world), writer (about 30 literary works), traveler (leader of two expeditions in the period 1923-1935). Public figure, philosopher, mystic, scientist, archaeologist, poet, teacher.

He took out an album and pencils and began to make sketches. I stopped self-flagellation, with each line came the confidence that I was doing everything right: I was climbing the mountains, walking on the ice of the Arctic Ocean, chasing Eskimos on dogs in Chukotka ... “No museum, no book,” said Nicholas Roerich, “they won’t let me the right to portray Asia and all other countries, if you have not seen them with your own eyes, if you have not made at least memorable notes on the spot. Persuasiveness is the magical quality of creativity, inexplicable in words, created only by the layering of true impressions. Mountains - mountains everywhere, water - water everywhere, sky - sky everywhere, people - people everywhere. But nevertheless, if you, sitting in the Alps, portray the Himalayas, then something unspeakable, convincing will be absent.

I made several sketches with colored pencils, and what I didn’t manage to do, I marked with words: where is what color. And he continued the main work - climbing to the top.

Claiming the "spirit of man"

Here reigns a wary, sensitive silence. Even the wind had died down completely, everything seemed to be in anticipation of something. Creepy.

I stand in indecision, several hundred meters to the top. I say to myself: “Well, Fedor, are you ready? Naomi Uemure 9
Uemura, Naomi (1941 - presumably February 13-15, 1984) - Japanese traveler who took extreme routes in different parts of the world. He made many trips alone.

It was harder."

He is no longer alive, on February 12, the climber climbed Mount McKinley 10
Double-headed mountain in Alaska. Located in the center national park Denali. Named after the 25th President of the United States, William McKinley.

The height of which is 6193 meters, and did not return to the base camp. Uemura climbed this highest peak in North America for the second time - for the first time McKinley was conquered by him in the spring of 1970.

The Last Journey of Naomi Uemura

How to call this feeling?

For some reason, I remembered the autumn of 1969, when I, as a cadet of the Kronstadt nautical school, climbed the bomb-bram-topmast of the Kruzenshtern training ship 11
four-masted barque, Russian training sailing vessel. Built in 1925-1926 at the shipyard of J. Tecklenborg in Germany, named "Padua" when launched. In 1946, it became the property of the USSR due to reparations and was renamed in honor of the famous Russian navigator Admiral Ivan Fedorovich Kruzenshtern. Port of registry - Kaliningrad. The ship has repeatedly made transatlantic and round-the-world expeditions.

When I received a leave of absence in the city, the first thing I always did was go to the embankment on the shores of the Gulf of Finland. From there, a view of the port, all clogged with ships, opened. Puffs of black smoke and white steam erupted from their chimneys and rose smoothly to the gray Baltic sky. Under the endless horns of tugboats and the steady loud rumble of large steamships that were anchoring or entering the port, I walked along the embankment and inhaled the fresh sea air with an admixture of various aromas: citruses brought from the island of Madeira, spices from India, Siberian wood. I watched in fascination as the holds of ocean-going steamships were unloaded and loaded. Boxes, bales, some equipment flashed by.

I was overwhelmed with joy. Nature smiled along with me - the sun came out from behind the clouds, illuminating the deck with light - a rare occurrence in Kronstadt. I felt that the sailboat accepted me.

"This is life!" And then I sang my favorite song:

"The trade wind sings 12
The wind blowing between the tropics all year round, in the Northern Hemisphere from the northeast, in the Southern Hemisphere from the southeast, separated from each other by a calm strip.
Like a flute, in rigging,
It buzzes like a double bass in inflated sails,
And clouds of amber plumes
Flicker on the moon and melt in the sky" 13
The author of the text is Yuri Iosifovich Vizbor.

Could lose everything.

But at the top of the mountain there is no time to enjoy victory. We still have to go down. Snow whirlwinds blew out, forced to hurry. The descent was harder than the ascent. I could not get my foot under the cut steps. I had to cut additional supports.

I started my descent down the slope, straight to the hollow. Zigzags approached the glacier along the snow crust. Here I decided to descend along a different route: I wanted to get to my camp at the foot of Matachingai faster. And it was a mistake: I lost time and equipment, and could have lost everything.

It seemed to me that the snowy tongue of the glacier did not stretch far, and the angle of inclination was only about 45 degrees. I took another step. But it wasn’t there, the cats didn’t fit well into the compressed snow, they had to be forced into the crust with force. Legs tired quickly. The narrow couloir of the glacier ended in an unexpected failure, I slipped, fell on my back and began to slide into the abyss. Attempts to resist did not give a result - the backpack interfered. With a staple, tightly clamped in my hand, I rested on the ice. But she crawled along with a creak.

The backpack tried to turn me upside down. I dropped the strap from the left shoulder, the right strap flew off by itself. The backpack tumbled down, scattering its contents. My weight decreased, and I pressed the tip of the brace against the ice with such force that at last I began to lose speed and was able to linger on the very edge of this ice springboard. “Here I am,” I said to myself.

Now I had to cope with a more difficult task - not to fall into the abyss, to try to get out. I carefully took the ice ax from behind my back and drove it into the ice. Checked if this unreliable support will withstand. I pulled myself up the slope on it and began to climb towards the scree, towards the boulders blackening in the distance.

While crawling, pressing his stomach against the cold snow, he never once looked around. But when he got to the first stone that had grown into the ice, and sat on it, his head was spinning and his hands were shaking. I looked longingly at the low sky and the white veil covering the mountains and the abyss. For the first time I felt the terrible and endless hostility of the silent expanses.

It was scary, I was ready to go completely limp, which is by no means good when you are alone in the mountains. It seemed to me that I would never again get into the cozy world of people. Thinking about people and pulled me out of a state of despondency, I tried to pull myself together, slowed down my breathing, then took a few deep breaths and exhaled. It helped calm the nerves. Thought that things could turn out much worse.

Climbing the mountain, I expected to get to the camp in three days, that is, to be at home, in a tent at the foot of Matachingai, on May 8th. Now, left without a rope, spare clothes and food, it was necessary to think of a new plan. The most reasonable thing is to return along the road that led me to the top. But it was not easy to find her: the snow covered all traces. If you follow a new path, then it will definitely pass through the ravines, along which avalanches often go. At this time of the year they rumble here one after another. But the way will be shorter, I could gain twenty hours. To go or not to go? Walking is madness, only chance or my happy fate could save me from avalanches. Do not go - freeze here. It was impossible to hesitate: the wind increased, “flags” made of snow appeared on the crest of the mountain.

At a quarter to five I began my descent through the avalanche. And by eight something happened to the legs. I couldn't take a step. This is probably due to the fact that for several days he was in an upright position, even sleeping while sitting. He lay on his back, put his feet on an ice ax stuck in the snow. Feel better.

Polar twilight smoothed out the outlines of the rocks, visibility deteriorated. There was a slight wind. In half an hour of my forced rest, five centimeters of snow pellets fell. I decided to burrow into the snow and spend the night under it. I already had such an experience of overnight stays when I rode dogs with the Eskimo Atata. We happened to sleep under the open sky in minus 30 degrees. And now it was only about fifteen below zero.

The image of Atata appeared in my memory. A native polar Eskimo, he had facial features similar to European ones. I dare to suggest that in Moscow, dressed in a civilian suit, he could be mistaken for a Russian. However, the streets of Moscow are not the surface on which he would like to walk, since Atata is a hunter. And his wife, Ainana, is one of the most attractive and wayward purebred Eskimo women in all of Chukotka.

Hunter Atata was forty when we met. He turned out to be a seasoned man, having wandered a lot through the snowy expanses of the Arctic. It was Atata's stories about walrus hunting, snow-white tundra, dog sledding that prompted me to get carried away and eventually set off on a long and risky journey through the whole of Chukotka a few years ago. 14
In 1981, Fedor Konyukhov crossed Chukotka on dogs.

Throwing a hood over my head, I stuck my face in my knees, hiding it from the falling snow. It got warmer. Before that, he changed wet socks, put them on his chest under a sweater to dry. And those that he carried all day wrapped around his waist, he quickly put on until they cooled down. Didn't feel cold. The bliss of rest was broken only by wet socks on the chest: water flowed from them in streams down the body. But the hands and feet were warm, the fingers moved - you can sleep. I thought that in two hours I would not be numb.

Excitement from mortal danger and annoyance that he had lost his backpack began to subside. I was hungry, and I regretted that I had not eaten a crumb of bread from dinner. He searched his pockets, hoping to find at least a piece of biscuit, but they were empty. No wonder I felt lousy, and the irritation reached such an extent that only a beloved woman or a bar of chocolate with biscuits could console me. I would have preferred the former, although I could hardly really do justice to her.

I made a tactical mistake: I should have foreseen such a situation and put a small amount of food in my pockets. Cursing my own stupidity, I tried to console myself with the thought that a meager supply in my pockets would not change anything. Although I acted like a real idiot. No matter how strong and energetic a person is, it is still impossible to neglect your body in the mountains. I had to eat regularly, although I didn’t feel like it, drink hot - and I saved gasoline! He also fell into the abyss.

And I also thought about my wife and children. After all, I promised them that I would stay at home in the spring. Spring has come, only I'm not with my family, but far in the north. And now my writhing body is crushed by snow, and my soul is rushing about like a kite on a string, lifted into the sky by a chilling wind. I felt good and calm under the snow, but my thoughts could not calm down. They flew to the house, then to friends and again returned to the mountains.

Kayur Atata. From the cycle "Life and Life of the Peoples of the North"

In danger

I fell asleep, but did not sleep long, about an hour. I woke up with the feeling that something was wrong in the mountains. It is difficult to explain what caused the anxiety. But I woke up not from the cold, but from fear - from an inexplicable foreboding of trouble. If I were lying in a tent, in a sleeping bag, I would be too lazy to get up. And then he opened his eyes, raised his head, looked at the mountains. The snow stopped falling, the wind died down, the peaks were clearly visible. Everything was calm, but the "sixth sense", my guardian angel, continued to warn.

I quickly got up, brushed off the snow and hurried to leave my familiar place. I looked back. Is something going to happen, or is the premonition just teasing me, robbing me of my rest? He took a few steps up and heard a slight click behind him. A crack ran through the snow cover of the mountain, and suddenly the entire upper part of the snow-covered slope began to move. Snow rushed down. The avalanche grew rapidly and rushed straight into the gorge. Everyone has already closed the swirling whirlwinds. The roar of the avalanche, which had just slipped from under my feet, was like the roar of an express train rushing through the tunnel. The broken silence was repeated by multiple echoes, and for a long time rattles, explosions, and whistles were heard. All this taken together gave rise to a cannonade.

Mountain Symphony! Famous English climber George Mallory 15
Mallory, George (1886-1924) - English climber who attempted to climb Mount Everest (Chomolungma) back in 1924. According to the generally accepted version, he died on the way to the top. There is also an assumption that he died already during the descent (in this case, he, and not Edmund Hillary with Tenzing, should be considered the conqueror of Everest). His body was found in 1999 at an altitude of 8155 meters by Konrad Enker during a special expedition to Everest.

He said this: "A day spent in the Alps is like a magnificent symphony." And he, as if foreseeing what the attempt to conquer Everest threatens, gave his biographer a reason to write that "a day spent on Everest may turn out to be more like a giant cacophony that will end in dead silence."

Mallory found purely aesthetic satisfaction in the mountains. He loved the mountains with that love that drowned out everything and swallowed him all up - first the soul, and then the body. He was the first to pave the way to the highest peak in the world - Everest. The climber compared: “What happens to us is no different from what happens to those who, say, have a gift for music or drawing. Having devoted himself to it, a person brings many inconveniences and even dangers into his life, but still the greatest danger for him is to devote himself entirely to art, because it is that unknown, the call of which a person hears in himself. To escape that call is to wither like a pea pod. So are climbers. They accept the opportunity given to them to rise to the top, following the call of the unknown, which they feel in themselves.

George Mallory was a member of the first three Everest expeditions in the early twenties. On June 8, 1924, he and the still very young climber Irwin were determined to conquer the giant mountain.

They disappeared forever in the fog that surrounded the peak ... Only nine years later, at an altitude of 8450 meters, Mallory's ice ax was found. Did he get to the top with his young friend, and what was the cause of their death - no one will ever know about this. Maybe they fell into the same avalanche that just slipped from under my feet, and the echoes of its roar are still heard over Matachingai. I imagined what is happening on Everest, if here, at low altitudes, white death demolishes everything in its path.

It would be strange if, at my age, I began and ended the topic of travel with a book by a sixteen-year-old Australian crazy girl who went around Earth in solitary circumnavigation. The tenacity of a teenage girl, who sought and achieved what not every adult and experienced person would dare to do, at one time became a sensation on the green continent, and even more so, what was happening in the book was wonderful for me. Have you achieved? Survived? Back? Is it true? But…

Also, despite Jessica Watson's several storms, her journey seemed…too easy. Therefore, having finished with one book, I set to work no longer a girl, but an adult man, no longer from sunny Australia, but from the shores of the Sea of \u200b\u200bAzov.

As I guessed from the very beginning and now I can already say with confidence, My Travels creates a kind of contrast with The Power of Dreams in almost everything, except perhaps admiration for the open spaces that both travelers have opened up. Perhaps someone will say that it is wrong to compare these books. And I partly agree with this, but ... It just so happened that in my case one of them followed immediately after the other and in both a significant number of pages were devoted to solo sailing on a yacht around the world. In order to avoid misunderstandings, I will say that I do not compare books and, moreover, I do not compare persons, but only my impressions.

Age matters. “The Power of Dreams” was remembered, among other things, for its uncomplicated teenage enthusiasm and spontaneity. Getting a boost of youthful energy is very good! But the years take their toll and, if we talk about travel, I want to go far with a peer or with someone who has even more knowledge and experience behind them. Fedor Filippovich Konyukhov, who remembers himself in 2015 at the age of forty, came in handy in this regard!

"I dream of fantastic worlds! Close friends and my family often try to stop me. They say that it's time to give up fantasy. Fantastic worlds do not exist - this is imagination and fiction! There are no undiscovered islands, there are no places where no human foot has set foot. Only a schoolboy who has read adventure books can live the way you live. In my soul I understand and agree with my opponents. But in the depths of my consciousness there is still childhood, over the years it does not leave my body shell. And I am glad about it." (from)

Big quote, but worth it! Let it be only my feeling, but I stubbornly see the forty-year-old Fyodor Filippovich as a man in whose body it seems that a village old man already tired of life, with the purest soul, and an eternally irrepressible, ardent to new impressions and testing himself for strength youth lives. And only the old man happens to yearn for the house, for the peace of the family hearth, for his wife and children, he only has to feel sorry for himself, lost in another wilderness, and then, having nevertheless got out of trouble, return to native village Wrangel on the shore of the bay of the same name, as the same young man, already burning with a new journey, expedition or campaign, immediately pats him by the shoulder.

And no matter how tired the old man is, the young man will never allow him to stay in one place for a long time, to plunge into the ordinary, petty, filthy vanity. In the meantime, inspired by the young man straightens his shoulders, next to him quietly and peacefully waits in the wings an artist, for whom all distant wanderings are by no means a goal, but only a means. A tool that gives inspiration again and again, in order to convey with a pencil and paints to those who do not want or cannot leave their circle of comfort, the enthusiastic reverence experienced many times by Konyukhov for the beauties, grandeur and power of the world created by the Lord God!

"Many people think that an artist creates canvases while sitting in a warm workshop. Not everyone does! My graphic sheets get to me differently, my works are events that I experienced and felt, these are my thoughts, my perception of the environment" (c)

If the book had only Konyukhov's description of his inspiration and creative process, I would end the previous paragraph and move on to a completely different topic. But I was lucky to read the publication, on the pages of which they placed photo reproductions of the author's paintings, whose content perfectly complemented the text. Of course, looking at monochrome images on a six-inch screen of an e-book is not at all the same as seeing a page of a paper book one and a half times as large in area, or even visiting a house-museum that surprised the world many times and broke a bunch of records, a traveler. In other words, "My Travels" is one of those books that, even in our electronic age, it would be better to purchase in a classic paper form.

From a book of one voyage to a book of many paths. I have no idea whether Jessica, who has already become a young woman, will become famous for other records and achievements on land and at sea, or the triumph of the conqueror of the elements and open spaces that happened in her youth will remain the only one until the end of her life.

Once having overcome all the obstacles on the way to the cherished goal deserves respect, but literally within a few years he conquered the mountains of Chukotka, then reached the North Pole, then sailed on a yacht on a solo round-the-world trip and continues to travel in every conceivable way at the present time, I’m not afraid of that word, amazing!

"To get away from that call is to dry up like a pea pod." (from)

Naturally, I knew about Konyukhov's travels long before I got to My Travels, but it was thanks to the book that I discovered him as a real all-rounder, able to go through fire, water and copper pipes, that is, ugh, through swamps, snow , rocks and waves raised by a storm to heaven! Pure madness? Or the happiest of destinies? At least one of them? :)

Thanks and despite. Caressed by the support of the family first, and then a considerable part of society, business and even politicians, the Australian schoolgirl went to the ocean to prove her strength to skeptics and the elements. Our compatriot had to almost stealthily get from Russia to Australia, and then, with the money of a single, judging by the text, sponsor, to purchase a yacht, buy what he needed and depart along the route without any pomp and applause from the crowd. However, this is all empty, because the difference in time and mentality is obvious.

But what "My Travels" struck me with was the number of trials that fell on the honored traveler and his yacht "Karaana"! I don’t know which of those who sailed around the world from Sydney to Sydney were more lucky with the weather, and who were less. But, if the battle with severe storms for a pink-painted, high-tech yacht became not only a short, but not particularly significant stage in time, then the voyage of the Karaana controlled by Konyukhov is, as it were, a test sent from above from the following one after another, trying man and ship to break the storms.

By the way, it was not by chance that I said about the equipped software last word technical progress owned by Jessica Watson "Pink Lady". Someone may disagree with me, but in my opinion, the teenage round-the-world trip did not turn into a tragedy, including because the course was repeatedly corrected based on images received via the Internet from meteorological satellites. But Fedor Filippovich in 1993 did not have such an opportunity and used satellites exclusively to determine coordinates by the triangulation method.

Enjoy the moment and think about eternity.

Naturally, a teenage girl and an adult man, already wise in life, react differently to the obstacles that confront them, including life-threatening obstacles, successes in overcoming and loneliness in the vast expanses. Therefore, if “The Power of Dreams” in full accordance with modern trends glorifies initiative and tolerance by gender and age, then “My Travels” is a travel magazine, exceptionally bright memories of barefoot, rural childhood and the sacred awe of a believer before the beautiful and beautiful created by the Lord God. at the same time terrible, because formidable, nature.

"People engaged in worldly affairs usually look at each other, delve into other people's lives, condemn or try to change the lives of loved ones and never try to look at themselves from the outside. And solo travel gave me this opportunity." (from)

Of course, in each of his journeys, he strives to achieve the goal, and even prayers to God are focused on the fact that the Lord would give him the courage to climb the mountain, alone or with a group to reach the North Pole, swim around the world, and so on, so that, in the end, , "to raise the bar of human ability even higher than it was raised by my predecessors."

And at the same time, having passed the mark of forty years, he more and more often thinks about the house, about relatives with whom he has to communicate in fits and starts every few months, about big and small mistakes accumulated over four decades, and even about whether he is tempting God. with his tenacity to visit everywhere and everywhere?

Many, if not all, travelers periodically think and dream of a quiet home and a quiet life with those who each time have to be left in a heavy expectation. Someone dies on the next route, never having time, or perhaps simply not wanting to, turn off the path leading into the alluring uncertainty. Someone still manages to settle down, devoting himself to his family, creating his own business or standing at one of the helms of a large or small organization, at least approximately what they were doing before.

And let this be only my feeling, but if somehow it happened that I would know absolutely nothing about Konyukhov and would discover him only now, in My Travels, I would say that, probably, through a few years after the events described in the book, having completed several more risky expeditions, he nevertheless calmed down and settled on his native shore of Wrangel Bay. Aha! How!

As soon as I typed in a query on Google, I saw materials about a successful solo voyage through Pacific Ocean on a rowboat in 2013 - 2014 and held in 2016 world tour in a hot air balloon in eleven days! And then I learned about Fyodor Filippovich's plans to again go by rowboat, only not through the Pacific Ocean, but on a three-stage round-the-world trip. And again in a balloon, only this time already two revolutions around the Earth! And on a hot air balloon to a height of 25 kilometers, into the stratosphere!

Someone will admire, someone will mix admiration with horror, someone will twist his finger at his temple, sympathize with the relatives and friends of the accursed madman and begin to swear: D And I just have no words. Right now I can’t, but in the near future I’ll definitely get it as before “My travels. The Next Ten Years”, and to other books by Konyukhov. My regards!

My travels fyodor konyukhov myth. My travels

Author Fedor Konyukhov

Fedor Konyukhov My travels

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Chapter 1 Matchingai, way to the top

Mysterious Peaks

The beginning of the way

From here you can't go back

How to call this feeling?

In danger

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